


Lie to me

by Showmethedestiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Firefighter Dean, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Other tags to be added, Russian Mafia, Violence, WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2019-03-11 12:55:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13524705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Showmethedestiel/pseuds/Showmethedestiel
Summary: Castiel is a soldier. He’s devoted to a fault, and he stopped thinking that he could be anybody anybody at thirteen – incidentally the first time he killed. So when he's ordered to murder one of the Winchesters, he complies without hesitation.





	1. An unlikely meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My latest endevour; Mafia Cas. What can I say, I love it. Anyway, this is a work in progress to be updated every Sunday, although that may change. I hope you enjoy!  
> -B

* * *

The room is nice. Like a bedroom from a ‘modern suburban homes’ magazine – superficially decorated but ultimately un-lived in, the walls are all painted an indistinct cream colour and everything is spotless. It’s dark; only the beginnings of daylight filtering through the hastily drawn curtains casting a faint light over by the dresser. In middle of one wall is the bed, and on the bed is an eggshell blue bed set, and wrapped up in the ugly comforter – continuing the trend of bored decoration – is a lump. The lump moves slightly – and when a cell phone on the nightstand starts to vibrate the cocoon unravels and reveals itself as a man, who sits up with a face not unlike thunder to squash the covers down and answer the phone. He gives the screen a cursory glance before putting the device to his ear and unleashing on the unfortunate person on the other end of the line a stream of harsh, angry Russian, including, but not limited to, a tasteful variety of expletives. When he’s finished he puts the cell phone back on the nightstand and places both feet on the rough carpeted floor, taking a deep breath, before striding off; presumably to the kitchen to check his emails and begin his day.

The man’s name is Castiel and he isn’t usually that grumpy – honest. Well, only on Mondays before seven and his necessary and habitual cup of coffee. You see, Castiel’s lifestyle isn’t really conducive to complacency in any regard. He’s a glorified hitman – essentially. Not that it’s a bad thing; he likes his life. Or, he knows nothing different, it’s often difficult to differentiate, not that Castiel gives the subject any thought.

He stirs honey into the black liquid, watching the thick, sweet goodness dissolve slowly into his drink. It gives him a sort of grounding satisfaction – it being one of his only habits not associated with work. At times he’d say it’s more therapeutic than killing, but then, only on a day he’d had to murder someone really kind. He places the mug beside the laptop on his desk, the spoon still spinning a little and making a grating sound against the ceramic of the cup. He stares at it for a moment before he rolls his shoulders and checks his emails.

There’s nothing from anyone on Dean Winchester – his current target. Also the reason Castiel is in Kansas in the first place, never mind in a small, comfortable house, built for a family, in the suburbs. On the wall behind his laptop is a cork board, covered sparsely in bits and pieces of Winchester’s life. There’s a picture of his mother – Mary – the root of the reason Castiel is here. Long before Dean Winchester was born, his mother made a deal with a demon. Not a literal demon, obviously, that would be ridiculous. But a man named Azazel from the gang called _Hell_ , the members of which coined the term _demons_ for themselves. The deal was her life for her boyfriend-at-the-time and future-father-of-her-children called John’s life. Azazel was a cruel sonofabitch, even Castiel conceded to that – and true to his word had killed Mary Winchester in the nursery of her youngest son. What was over and beyond his word, however, was the method he used. Burned the whole house to the ground. John and their two sons escaped, leaving their wife and mother to burn inside.

Now, twenty five years later, there’s talk that Dean Winchester is consorting with a demon, and dismissing the relevance of proof, Castiel has been sent to take care of the problem. Because any kind of an alliance between a Winchester and a demon would never be good news – despite the fact that most Winchesters of this generation are just civilians.

Opting to ignore any emails that aren’t vital, Castiel downs the dregs of his coffee and wanders through to the bedroom, rummaging through his duffel in search of his running clothes. His eight-hour flight had got in late last night, and he hasn’t had a chance to stretch his legs yet.

***

Dean sends a quick text to his brother to double check he will be ready when Dean arrives, before pocketing his phone and his wallet. He flicks off the kitchen light and leaves out the front door, not bothering to lock it behind him because he’ll only be gone for a few hours, and he learned his second week living here that there’s really no need. He practically skips down his front steps, eyes being drawn to the blessedly cloudless and blue sky above. He can smell spring in the air and although the heat will be a bitch when he has to wear his suit at work, he’s looking forward to it nonetheless. He’s so distracted by the changing seasons that he apparently doesn’t look where he’s going enough to avoid a rather large and important object in his path. He crashes into it and lets out an ‘oof ‘ before realising that, no, it’s not just an object - it’s six feet of (slightly sweaty) muscle.

“Sorry man,” Dean says as soon as he realises it’s a person he’s hit. The man is on the ground, clearly not expecting Dean whacking into him from the top of his steep stone steps. Dean reaches down and puts a hand on the guy’s shoulder, noting momentarily the firmness of it, before that thought it forcibly removed from his brain and one more like a little girl shrieking is replacing it as Dean finds himself facing away from the man, his arm twisted agonisingly behind his back and what feels, very suspiciously, like a knife at the small of his back. He may or may not say ‘ _eep_ ’. He can feel the man’s hot breath on the nape of his neck, and he can smell the faint scent of… sandalwood? lavender? it’s hard to tell.

The man speaks then, and God, his voice. It sounds like he smokes ten packs a day or gets his mouth fucked every morning, Dean can’t decide which is sexier. Probably the latter. “Don’t move.” He says. And Dean’s always been into it a little bit rough so he really needs to remind himself that now is so not the time what with possibly getting mugged and all. Not that it’s likely he’s getting mugged by someone he just crashed into, but still.

“Okay, okay,” Dean says, as nonthreatening as he can manage. But Dean knows he’s strong and he has a lot of experience fighting in his past, so he decides he isn’t gonna go down so easy. He kicks at the man’s ankle and uses the distraction to twist around in the man’s arms and make a grab for the knife. He sees momentary surprise in the startlingly blue eyes a few inches from his face before it’s schooled into something impassive and the knife is being pulled back. Dean’s fast but the man’s faster – much faster, and Dean’s out of practice. Before Dean knows what’s happening he’s on the sidewalk, face pressed into a sharp pebble probably making an imprint just below his left eyebrow.

“Fuck!” Dean says and then groans. “Just – what do you want, man?” He manages to sound indignant even now.

“You touched me,” the man explains coolly. “Don’t touch me.”

“Okay, I won’t touch the guy who’s got me pinned down. Will you let me up now?”

Dean’s given no reply for a good thirty seconds before he feels the pressure on his back let up and he can push himself up to his knees. Surprisingly, there’s a hand being offered to him. He brushes his palms off on his jean before taking it and allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. When his eyes meet the other man’s, his expression suddenly changes into something Dean might even call recognition, but it can’t be because Dean’s never seen the man in his life. That and horror.

“Somethin’ on my face?” Dean chuckles, somewhat apprehensive.

The man seems to snap out of it. Whatever ‘it’ was. “No, I just… thought I recognised you.”

Dean shrugs. “I’ve just got one of those faces.” He sticks out his hand. “I’m Dean.”

The other man’s palm is cool and smooth, long fingers wrapping around Dean’s after a moment of suspicious hesitation. Dean wonders if there’s some rule against not trying to get into the pants of someone who just threatened you, because the guy is hot. Like, heart of a dying star hot. His hair is a little ruffled, probably from their altercation a moment ago, he has a strong jawline and sharp cheekbones, and his chest looks firm. It’s his eyes that really get to Dean, though. They’re… blue, but it’s not so much their colour that’s striking it’s… Dean can’t put his finger on it, but he knows that those are eyes he can trust.

“I’m Ca- Carver.”

“Carver?” Dean asks, then adds, teasing. “You sure?” He grins.

“Yes. Carver Edlund. I just moved in across the street, it’s nice to meet you, Dean.”

Dean sighs internally. “Carver Edlund,” he states incredulously. “You know, I – along with half the population – have read the _Supernatural_ series.” He gives ‘Carver’ a moment to flounder before saying, “fine, don’t tell me your real name. I’ll find out eventually.”

The other man narrows his eyes at Dean and stays silent. He doesn’t look pissed that Dean figured out his lie, though. Just… assessing.

“Well, I gotta head,” Dean hooks a thumb over his shoulder. “But since you’re gonna be livin’ around here I should invite you to the barbecue I’m having this Saturday. Here, lemme give you my number…” He begins to pat down his pockets for a pen before finding one in a jean pocket. He reaches out for ‘Carver’s hand before remembering how they met. “Uh,” he hesitates. The man hasn’t stopped staring at Dean with that weird, calculating look. He sighs like it’s a burden and offers his hand out to Dean. Dean grins and takes it in his to scrawl ten digits on the palm. “I’ll see ya around, mystery man.” He pats him on the shoulder and starts to walk away. “Text me!”

When he inevitably looks back upon turning the corner at the end of the street, the mystery man is just stood there, staring at the palm of his hand. Dean shrugs it off as just a funny story to tell Sammy. Speaking of, he should probably tell his brother there’s a plus one coming to the barbecue…

***

What the hell just happened? Castiel asks himself as he watches Winchester – his target – walk away down the street from his periphery. He let this man, Dean, touch him not once, but twice, voluntarily, and it wasn’t during combat. No one touches him. It’s pretty much a world-known and accepted fact. Now there are ten inky numbers imprinted on Castiel’s skin and he can feel them there, reminding him and mocking him. He clenches and relaxes a fist, subconsciously wiping his palm on his running shorts. Only a few more days until he will have scoped out Dean’s situation and killed him, along with anyone else who’s unavoidable.

Upon meeting Winchester – albeit unexpectedly – he had had the fleeting thought that perhaps the most efficient way to kill his target would be in bed with him; and the thought was so very _Gabriel_ that it almost made Castiel smile. He missed his brother, no matter what he told his superiors. The two had grown up together and Gabe had always protected his siblings – it was one of the few very admirable things about the con artist. But, when his life caught up to him, it had resulted in his untimely death. Though in their line of work, no death was truly untimely.

Perhaps Gabriel’s death is the reason for Castiel acting out so much. He’s already complicated the hit by literally introducing himself to Winchester – not to mention that he almost let slip his real name. That’s a big Bratva no-no, at least for people like Castiel. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, resolving to go to the store as soon as he’s finished his run – buy some bits and pieces he needs. Perhaps exercise will drive inappropriate thoughts of those earnest green eyes from his mind.

***

Sam and Dean are walking, unhurried and companionable as the sun dips below mountains to their west. Sam laughs raucously after Dean tells him about some anecdote from work. They rarely get moments like this anymore – just to be brothers – because of Dean’s work schedule as a fire fighter, and Sam’s as a lawyer. The air is hot and dry and Dean can feel a scorcher of a day in conception for the morning.

Sam slaps a gargantuan moose hand over Dean’s chest and points down the street, asking “who’s that?”  

Dean squints in the low light and catches a mop of dark, unruly hair dressed in a suit. Dean stops dead and Sam follows suit. “That’s him!” Dean hisses, pointing and trying to be discreet.

“Who? Knife guy?” Sam asks, trying to get a better look at the guy.

“Yes, knife guy!” Dean rolls his eyes and pitches his voice back to normal level when he asks “should we invite him around?”

Sam glares at him. “Dean, this is supposed to be bro night!”

“C’mon,” Dean looks at Sam scornfully. “I asked you to stop calling it that. Besides, we’ll get another chance. I’m just… curious about this guy.” He shrugs and tries not to let Sam in on the fact that he might a little bit also want to jump his bones.

Sam sighs defeated and agrees. “Fine. But if he eats all the spring rolls I’ll kill him, never mind if he carries a knife.”

Dean chuckles and nods. “I don’t doubt that.” They draw slowly closer to where the other man is standing, concentrating on something on his little glowing phone screen. “Hey, Mystery Man!” Dean calls once they’re close enough – making the other man look up.

He looks between Sam and Dean, surprised for a moment, then with what looks like mild exasperation. “Winchester,” he says in acknowledgement.

Dean frowns. “I never told you that.”

“I talked to one of our neighbours about you,” Mystery Man explains, expression unchanged from one of mild wariness.

“Which one?” Dean asks, hoping it wasn’t Gordon Walker; he hates Dean.

He hesitates, only for a second, before answering. “Ms Mosely.” He says the words like it’s the first time he’s heard of the name.

Dean smiles. “Ah, yeah, Missouri’s great – doesn’t take any shit, thought.”

“No, I… imagine she wouldn’t.”

“Anyway, this is my brother, Sam.” Dean gestures towards his brother, who smiles. “We were gonna ask if you wanted to come have some Chinese with us?”

“Nice to meet you,” Sam says. “Sorry, I didn’t catch your name…”

“I’m busy tonight,” the man says, ignoring Sam. “I should get going. I have work to do.” With that the man turns and strides up his short driveway, going inside without a second glance at Sam and Dean. Once inside, Dean notes the curtains being drawn and the lights being turned off.

“Well that was rude,” Sam says, frowning.

“Yeah, he wasn’t like that this morning,” Dean agrees. “Maybe he had a bad day,” he hopes.

The brothers turn and resume the short walk back to Dean’s house, their strange encounter soon to be forgotten about over the heavy bag of takeout food in Sam’s hand.

***

It’s Sunday and Castiel still hasn’t decided whether to go to the barbecue or not. That’s unusual in and of itself, what’s worse is that he’s dithering over _what to wear_. He feels like a high school girl. On the one hand, he doesn’t think Dean’s friends will be wearing suits to a spring barbecue, but on the other that’s most of what Castiel owns. He only possesses one pair of jeans and they haven’t been worn in eons.

He realised the other night that he’s probably going to have to kill Sam Winchester too. He’s close to his brother and he’s seen Castiel’s face now. He idly muses over how to do so as he stares at his sparse wardrobe in consternation.

He knows the party’s at noon, not because he texted Dean but because his superiors are somehow aware of it too, and e-mailed him. Castiel wonders what Dean’s like around his friends and then realises it doesn’t matter because Dean’ll be dead in a week anyway and Castiel will be back in his lavish apartment that he didn’t pay for. There’s something about Dean – something that throws him off in a way he didn’t expect before coming here. And it’s not just the change in surroundings because Castiel does that all the time for work – and it can’t be that Dean is objectively attractive because Castiel has killed plenty of models in his time. He can’t put his finger on whatever it is and it’s got him feeling skittish and antsy like when he was young and only killed for what passed for sport.

So he decides to go to the party in jeans and a button down. There are approximately four knives, two other blades, a tranquiliser dart and a gun on Castiel’s person as he sorts his hair in the mildewed brass bathroom mirror. He sighs in frustration when it still looks as if he just woke up, then realises doesn’t matter because Dean’ll be dead in a week anyway. Grabbing his cell phone from the cracked formica before him, he thinks through his decision in his head as he makes his way through the house to the front door. He isn’t second guessing himself – he never makes mistakes. (Apart from those he’s already made with Dean.)

The house is suspiciously quiet and car-free when Castiel strolls up to it. That should be his first clue that something’s wrong, but he still climbs the stone stairs up to Dean’s uncovered wood front door and knocks twice, three times. He hears a muffled ‘coming!’ a few minutes before the door is pulled open, revealing a very shirtless, very wet man. Dean’s only got a towel around his waist and he’s breathing heavily like he just ran somewhere. Castiel assesses that his shower must be upstairs. He made a deduction; he isn’t distracted at all, he reasons. Still, he hasn’t said anything to the man before him yet, eyes somewhat occupied by watching small rivulets of water cascade down miles of naked skin before him. Dean’s more muscular than Castiel might’ve thought, but then again he did make a valiant attempt at fighting Castiel off – not so much so that his skillset will be a hindrance when it comes to the hit.

“Mystery Man!” Dean exclaims, and Castiel almost smiles – there’s something of Gabriel in the name. Then Winchester points an accusing finger at him. “You’re not pizza.”

“I am not,” Castiel agrees. “And I frown on cannibalism, so I’d rather you didn’t test that.”

Dean laughs – proper, head thrown back, raucous laughter – and Castiel feels a ridiculous, fleeting moment of pride. Then realises it doesn’t matter because Dean’ll be dead in a week anyway.

“Just frown on it?” Dean asks, still grinning, and adjusts the towel on his hips.

Castiel shrugs. “Each to their own – it just seems a little gross to me.”

Dean’s eyebrows rise. “Well then. So, not that I don’t appreciate it, but what are you doing here?”

“I’m here for the barbecue.”

“The barbecue that starts at six? That barbecue?”

Castiel blinks. His intel was wrong. “Yes. Am I early?” He decides to go with innocent.

Dean chuckles. “Just a bit. You wanna come in? I have coffee…”

Castiel hesitates before assessing, ‘what’s the harm?’ and nodding. “Alright.”

Dean smiles all big and bright and turns around. “Just lemme throw on some clothes and I’ll be right back.” He disappears into his house, leaving the door wide open in his wake. Castiel should find it idiotic that this strange man is so trusting, but he can’t seem to find it in him. So he walks inside and closes the door behind him, quietly cataloguing his surroundings. He makes his way down the hallway and into a clean but lived-in kitchen. The tiles are green and white and they trigger a strange wave of nostalgia that Castiel thinks is reminiscent of some place he stayed when he was a child. He clenches his jaw and stands stoically by the door. This needs to be over soon, he thinks.

Dean comes in a minute or two later dressed in jeans and an ACDC shirt. His hair is still damp as he pours Castiel some coffee even though he prefers tea. They drink it while Dean tells him about their other neighbours – none of whom Castiel has met. Luckily he knows a general background on a few of them so he was able to lie about Missouri Mosely the other day. He also learns that Sam is a lawyer, Dean’s a firefighter, and Castiel says he’s an accountant, which makes Dean raise an eyebrow but he says nothing.

By the time he leaves, he’s decided that Dean needs to die tonight. He’s causing too many complications for Castiel; he _smiled_ at something Dean said without meaning to. If Zachariah could see him now he would laugh – metaphorically of course, literally he may kill Castiel for expressing emotion. Castiel sighs as he unlocks his front door. Perhaps killing Dean will be cathartic, he hopes, like getting it out of his system. Whatever ‘it’ is.  So he pulls out the suitcase from under his bed and unwraps the silencer for his gun from where it was cocooned in a shirt.

 


	2. Save me

Mystery Man doesn’t come to the barbecue after leaving earlier that day. Dean chastises himself because every time he sees somebody new come through the door he will glance at them, only to feel an unwanted pang of disappointment when it is never the man he hopes for. Dean doesn’t even know why he’s so interested in the stranger whose name he still doesn’t even know – it’s probably just because he’s hot. And strong. Which, Dean doesn’t know how an accountant can stay that fit because honestly.

Dean shakes his head to clear it and resumes bringing the plates and glasses indoors. He isn’t disappointed; he repeats internally, he’s not. Besides, he’s not even interested in dating, and having casual sex with a neighbour who he may see daily for god knows how long seems like a bad idea.

***

It’s dark when Castiel slips out the front door. The moon is high above him, tonight only a slit of bright white where it hangs, watching Castiel do his work. There’s a chill in the wind and Castiel wraps his arms around himself as he walks down the street towards Dean Winchester. It’s strange, by this point he doesn’t feel anything – carrying a gun, and the knowledge he’s about to end a life. When he was younger he’d get this rush, it made him want to fight, or to run, or to laugh – and then once it was over he’d throw up and with that the feeling would be gone, leaving him hollow. Gabriel had used to stay with him, then. To rub slow circles on his back and to lament over how unfair it was that they had to do their family’s dirty work. Castiel would say nothing as he sat beside the toilet on tiling that probably cost more than he did. He’d just sit, and listen, and wish that the circumstances were different. Now he just does what he does. He’s numb to it.

Winchester’s door is unlocked as it always is and Castiel’s gloved hands find the handle as he smiles wryly at the irony. It’s lucky he was here earlier so he can find his way around easily in the darkness. He passes the living room on his way and sees movement – a body on the couch rolls over, under a patchwork blanket. Castiel makes his way silently into the room, gun now drawn and trained on the sleeping man. He notes that it’s odd that he would be sleeping on the couch, but still creeps soundlessly forward with practised ease.

It’s Dean. His face is open and relaxed in sleep. It makes him look younger, and there’s one layer of self-protection taken away, even from such an open and trusting man. Castiel notices his gun has dropped to his side and he hastily aims it at the man’s head. His finger squeezes the trigger. Dean’s eyelashes flutter on his cheek and he frowns in sleep, nuzzling into the cushion beneath his head. Just a fraction of a millimetre, and-

There’s a noise from the hallway. Castiel spins around and his gun immediately finds the source – a woman, short, with brown, wavy hair. Most of that escapes Castiel’s immediate attention though, as the woman herself has a gun raised at Castiel – and she’s a demon. Her eyes are tattooed black, as most of the higher-up operatives of Hell are; Castiel always thought of this as quite a pointless exercise, as it does make some of them go blind. He’s never seen one so close up, and it’s oddly disturbing.

“Who are you?” he asks, voice low and quiet so as not to wake his target.

“A demon,” she says in a sultry tone, as if she's proud of the fact. “And what is Castiel Krushnic doing with a gun aimed at Dean Winchester?” She takes a step forward and Castiel cocks his gun.

“Don’t come any closer,” he warns. “I was assigned to kill him. We had intel that he was consorting with demons, and now I have proof.” The woman smirks, and Castiel adds, “I ask again, who are you?”

She chuckles now, gun still unwavering, aimed at Castiel’s head. She shakes her head. “Almost, but not quite. Sure, I know Dean, but you got the wrong Winchester. I’m Sam’s girlfriend, Ruby. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” She smiles and it’s like venom in Castiel’s veins.

“Ruby,” he says, rolling the name around on his tongue like the poison it is. He quirks one shoulder in a half-shrug. “It’s unimportant. Both of them are going to be killed.”

Ruby huffs. “Oh, are they now? And what about me? If you kill me, more will come. I’m not alone here.”

Castiel looks her up and down for a second, calculating, and notes that her trigger finger has relaxed during their conversation. He sends a bullet through her face. Her body crumples, a self-satisfied smirk still stained on her limp face. Despite the silencer, the gun made noise, and Castiel glances down warily at the sleeping Dean. He’s stirring. Castiel makes a split-second decision, then walks briskly forward, heaves Ruby’s body over his shoulder and makes a speedy exit out the back door. Once he’s outside he watches as light after light comes on in Winchester’s house. Dean calls out, “Ruby? Sam?” and another light comes on upstairs.

“Dean?” the new voice asks, but the rest is lost as Castiel briskly walks back to his own house, Ruby’s blood seeping through his black Henley and making the skin of his back stick to it. Castiel grimaces as he unlocks his front door, glancing down the street once as a precaution before going inside and dumping Ruby in the downstairs bathtub.

He sighs and rubs his temples when he sits at his desk, remembering every detail of the night before he will send an account of it to his superiors. If he drank, he’d say he needs a drink.

***

Ruby left last night. She does that sometimes, and Dean can tell that it gets under Sam’s skin, though he says he’s fine. She’s a retired demon, but then, Dean doesn’t really believe the ‘retired’ part. The brothers know about Hell, and demons, because when their mother died, their dad went wrong in the head and was sucked into the dark world of revenge – on Azazel, who killed Mary.

Dean got out of the life years ago, when John died, and Sam even earlier. Dean wanted to punch his kid brother when he learned that he was dating a demon, even a retired one. Sammy made a life for himself – he’s a bigshot lawyer now, and Dean doesn’t want him to throw his life away for some chick. But Sam insists she’s worth it and who’s Dean to make decisions for anybody.

It feels like there’s something different this time, though, but Dean can’t put his finger on what it is.

He ignores it, and life goes on. He goes to work, comes home, makes dinner, goes to bed, sees Sam once a week, occasionally sees Mystery Man. He really needs to find out his name. So he invites him over for beers. The man seems to surprise himself when he says yes. They arrange for him to come over the following evening at six, and Dean feels like he’s in middle school all over again – except for the fact that John moved them around so much that he never even had time to develop a crush, never mind ask a girl out. But he's seen TV.

It’s a Monday that day, so of course Dean is working down at the station until five. It’s been a pretty slow day, mostly paperwork and procrastination while Dean sits at his own desk by the window. He’s gazing absentmindedly at a crow when he gets startled into reality again by a hand clapping his shoulder. He looks up at Bobby, his superior.

“We need an extra pair of hands,” Bobby explains. “Not like you’re doin’ anything here, anyway.” Without waiting for a reply, Bobby walks off in the direction of the fire engines and Dean scrambles to his feet, desperate to do anything that requires not sitting on his ass all day. He strides after Bobby and towards his gear, pulling it on quickly.

The closer they draw to their destination, the more worried Dean becomes. They are in Dean’s neighbourhood, speeding down Dean’s street. He’s not especially worried that his own house has gone up in flames; being a fireman he takes more than a few precautions, but he is slightly anxious that Missouri has left a pot on the stove, or that Kevin Tran’s science experiment has exploded.

Dean doesn’t expect to be pulling up outside his new neighbour’s smoking house, however. The truck stops and people yell as Dean runs up to the front door, glancing around for signs that the man might be out. There’s a car in the driveway. Dean’s gloved hand reaches for the doorknob before his brain catches up and reminds him of protocol. He runs over to the nearest window and inside he sees a kitchen, apparently the root of the fire – one wall is up in flames, wallpaper peeling and crumbling. There, though, in the centre of the room is the occupant of the house, wielding a miniature fire-extinguisher and making a valiant attempt at putting out the fire consuming half the room. He doesn’t even look particularly alarmed, just stands and watches as the sodium bicarbonate is sucked into the blaze. Dean notices this in a second, and in the next he’s back at the front door. It’s locked, and Dean rolls his eyes. Smart, but unnecessary, and right now, pretty inconvenient. He steps back and kicks in the lock, the door swings inward. Dean runs into the kitchen and over to the man.

“Hey,” he says, slightly breathless. “You gotta get out of here, c’mon.” Dean’s fingers curl around his bicep, not heeding the man’s advice not to touch.

He says nothing, though, just nods and lets Dean guide him outside. When they’re out front, Dean waits a few feet away while the other man leans a hand against the wall and coughs his guts up. The rest of the team are still going in and out of the house, but the fire has been stopped. It was fierce, but contained – routine.

Finally, the man takes a ragged breath and stands taller, rubbing a hand over his mouth.

“You good?” Dean asks, looking him over.

The man nods. “Yes, thank you.”

Dean’s about to say more when Bobby appears at the front door. “He okay?” he asks Dean.

Dean nods. “Nothing serious, just a bit of smoke inhalation.”

Bobby nods. “Sir, if you’d like to come inside, the smoke’s cleared out – mostly. Just gonna need you to sign some things. Name, insurance… Routine stuff.”

He nods and follows Bobby back into his house, only casting a quick glance back at Dean. He seems uneasy, but then, he did just have a house fire. Dean stands for a moment, breathing, taking in the neat flower bed in the front yard. He shakes his head and goes inside to see if anyone needs his help.

They don’t, they’re just clearing out, and Dean is just passing by what looks to be a dining room, when he hears Bobby’s voice inside.

“…Electrical fire. Surprisingly common, ‘specially in older houses like this one,” he says. Dean hangs by just out of site in the hall. “If you’d just like to sign here, Castiel, and then we’re done.”

Dean breaks out in an unexpected grin. He steps into the room.

“Castiel,” he drawls, making the two men look up. “I like it.”

“Boy, what have I told you about eavesdropping?” Bobby grumbles at him.

Dean chuckles. “It was an accident, I swear.”

“Sure it was,” Bobby says, scratching his beard. Castiel hands him back a pen and Bobby takes it, as well as some paperwork, walking out of the room after clapping Dean on the shoulder.

***

The two men seem friendly, familial, almost. Castiel watches them with interest.

“So,” Castiel says once they’re alone. “You found out my secret.”

“Told ya I would,” Dean grins.

“You’re a firefighter, not a detective.”

Dean chuckles. “True. But in the end, firefighting's how I found out.”

Castiel smirks and nods. “Touché.”

After a beat, Dean asks, “hey, you sure you’re okay?”

“Hm? Oh, yes, I’m fine. It was only a fire.” Why does Dean keep asking him that?

Dean huffs. “Only,” he hears him mutter. “Did they say it was electrical?”

“Yes,” Castiel says. “It’s lucky someone called the fire station.”

“You mean it wasn’t you?”

Castiel shrugs. “I had it under control.”

Dean laughs outright. “You did not,” he says, still smiling.

“Well,” Castiel tilts his head in acceptance. “More or less.”

Dean shakes his head but there’s a smile on his face. “You’ll need to get a guy out here,” he say, glancing behind him through the doorway to the blackened kitchen.

Castiel grimaces. “Yes, I imagine I will.”

“You don’t even have a kitchen,” Dean mumbles, walking away into said room. “How’re you gonna eat?” He stops abruptly and turns around. “Hey!” He points a finger at Castiel. “Come to mine, I’ll make you dinner.”

Castiel eyes him. “Haven’t you done enough?”

Dean huffs but doesn’t look offended. “This is just my job. Besides, you never came to the barbecue – you haven’t tasted my cooking.”

It’s a tempting offer – Castiel doesn’t really feel like living off takeout for who knows how long. So he sighs. “Fine, when do you want me?”

Dean’s smile widens. “Six?”

“Alright,” he nods.

“If you really wanna help, you could bring some wine,” Dean winks and walks past him back towards the door, missing the way Castiel’s breath hitches a little.

He clears his throat. “I’ll do my best.”

Dean nods and looks as if he’s about to leave, but then speaks. “Hey, mind if I use your restroom?”

Castiel thinks for a moment and the image of Ruby’s corpse in a bloody bath comes to mind. He takes a breath – there are only two bathrooms and the other is attached to his bedroom, where there are several pictures of Dean himself. “They’re, ah, they’re actually being redone. Sorry.”

Dean looks surprised but only for a moment. He shrugs. “No problem. I guess I’ll just run over to my house.” He turns towards the front door and Castiel breathes a sigh of silent relief. “I’ll see you tonight, Cas.”

Castiel’s head snaps up to Dean at the nickname and his stomach does a little tiny flip. Everyone calls him Castiel – expect for Gabe, of course. “Yes,” he says finally. “See you tonight.”

“Don’t forget the wine,” Dean calls over his shoulder with a grin as he walks away.

Castiel smiles a little and shakes his head as he stands in the doorway and watches Dean walk away. “I won’t.”

***

As soon as he gets home, Dean cleans almost the entire house – even though that seems unnecessary. He’s a tidy man. Between five and half five he changes his shirt four times and then laughs at himself in the mirror.

Castiel rings the doorbell at six on the dot and Dean pretends he hasn’t been waiting for him for the last ten minutes.

He stands wearing a charcoal grey button down and black jeans, and holds an expensive-looking bottle of red. He smiles up at Dean and presents the bottle.  
“Did I choose well?” he asks, handing the bottle over to Dean’s inspection and follows him into the house. “I don’t usually drink.”

Dean leads him into the kitchen, suffused with the aroma of cooking, and sets the bottle on the marble countertop. “You don’t drink wine?” He reaches up into the cupboard and retrieves two wine glasses.

“Alcohol,” Castiel replies. He leans against the counter and crosses his ankles over one an other.

“What, like, ever?” Dean asks, raising an eyebrow and turning to stir a pot of carbonara with his free hand.

Cas shakes his head. “Never. I last had a glass of wine over five years ago.”

Dean glances at him, suddenly concerned. “Sober?”

“Just uninterested.” He shrugs, “I’ve heard this one’s nice, though,” he says, picking up the bottle again. He does this adorable little frown as he reads the label and Dean has to turn away to hide his smile.

Once he's composed himself he turns back and hands Cas the glasses. “Pour me one, would ya?”

Castiel nods and walks to set the glasses down. “Do you have a bottle opener?”

“In there.”

***

“This is the best food I’ve ever eaten,” Castiel says around a mouthful of pasta, and he isn’t lying.

Dean grins across the table from him and takes a sip of wine. “You clearly don’t have much fine dining experience, then.”

“That’s the thing,” Cas argues. “I do. This still wins.”

“I’m honoured,” Dean smiles, only a little self conscious.

“You should be. Where did you learn?”

Dean looks at Castiel for a few moments; considering, before he answers. “My dad left me and my brother alone a lot while we were growing up. I had to learn, and feeding Sammy made me happy. I… got a knack for it.”

“Compelling story. You should open a restaurant.”

Dean laughs and rests his wine glass on the table. “Nah,” he shakes his head. “Isn’t there some sort of rule about not doin’ what you love as a job?”

“Tell that to pornstars,” Cas deadpans.

Dean snorts a laugh. After a few minutes of comfortable silence, where the two men watch each other, Dean's happy, hopeful eyes looking into Castiel's... what? Castiel wonders, what does Dean see when he looks at Cas? Certainly not his murderer - Castiel hasn't become that complacent. A potential friend? Something else? Dean clears his throat and asks, “you want any more?”

Castiel opens his mouth to answer, jarred from his train of thought, when his phone rings in his pocket. He fishes it out and checks the caller ID. It’s Zachariah. “Excuse me,” he says, standing.

Dean nods and Cas leaves the room. “Zachariah,” he greets.

“Krushnic,” the thick Russian accent replied. “Your orders have changed. Given the new information from the demon, we’ve decided it’s best to monitor Winchester.”

“You don’t want me to kill him?” Castiel frowns.

“Net. You don’t kill him, yet.”

“Very well. Is that all?”

“Yes. I expect your usual update by midnight.”

Zachariah ends the call and Castiel holds the phone in his hand, watching it for a moment. “Strange,” he mutters, in regard to the blooming emotion in his chest. His brain tries to label it as relief, but Castiel has never been one for labels.

***

Castiel has been gone for a few minutes and Dean can’t seem to help himself from smiling. He covers his mouth with a hand, despite that fact he’s alone. Dean’s scared of how much he likes Castiel – as more than just a friend – more than he’s prepared to think about.

He stands and piles the empty plates into his arms before taking them into the kitchen. They are dumped into the sink with a clatter. Dean crouches and looks through the glass oven door at a golden-topped pecan pie. Perfect. He slips on some oven-mitts, and opens the oven, lifting the pastry onto a cooling rack. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Castiel leaning against the doorframe, hands in pockets, just watching.

“I hope you like pecan,” Dean says, finding some plates.

“I do,” Cas says, but Dean can’t help but sense that something has changed.

“Everything good?” he asks, cutting into the pie.

“Yes, everything’s fine. I’ll be in the dining room.” Castiel turns and walks away, leaving Dean to plate up the dessert. He glances towards the doorway and frowns, but shakes his head, taking the plates through to Castiel.

***

Dean opens the door for Castiel and waits by it.

“I had a good time tonight, Cas,” Dean says, wearing an earnest smile.

“So did I.”

“You know,” Dean adds. “Your kitchen is still out of commission. You wanna do this again sometime soon?”

Castiel nods once. “Wednesday?”

Dean beams. “Wednesday.”

Castiel smiles a little in return and steps out of the door, and down the steep stone steps into the darkness of the night.


	3. Revelations

Ruby is still in the bathtub. The whole room is drenched in her rancid stench but as long as he keeps the door shut it doesn’t spread to the rest of the house. He’s planning on taking her down to the river tonight.

Perhaps then he’ll stop obsessing over his own stupidity and lack of self-control. Dean _fucking_ Winchester knows his real _fucking_ name, and Castiel got drunk with him; stared into his eyes across dinner like a damn lovesick teenager. His hangover the next day wasn’t enough penance and he wanted to shoot himself in the leg but settled for banging his head on the wall.

At least his orders had changed so he didn’t have to kill Dean yet, but then again, maybe that would have made things easier. Instead, he has to ‘monitor the situation’, and if any more demons show up he’s to kill them. Which also means having to live down the street from the man he had prepared himself to kill. That's not Castiel's biggest problem though. That would be the fact that he _likes_ Dean. To what capacity, he doesn't know, and to anyone else it would seem trivial - but Castiel hasn't liked someone outside of his family for... ever. So, fuck his life.

***

He’s had dinner with Castiel four times since the first, and met up once more. Dean doesn’t have many friends. There’s Benny, but he lives in Florida now, and there’s Victor from work, but he’s definitely more of a _work friend_ , and there’s Charlie but she’s really Sam’s friend that Dean knows. It’s a startling, but not unpleasant realisation that Cas is probably his best friend now. He doesn’t tell Dean all that much about himself but Dean still feels like he knows the man, although he is painfully curious as to why an accountant is so damn strong and quite possibly trained in martial arts. Still, he doesn’t want to push him for information. He can wait.

Sometimes, when it’s the end of a long day, and Dean’s with Castiel, he thinks he sees the mask slip, just a little. Because, for all Dean feels like he knows him, he also feels like Castiel is hiding from him constantly. Like there’s something there, just under the surface, that he’s perpetually struggling to keep to himself. And it’s in those moments of clarity behind agonisingly beautiful, sad blue eyes, that Dean feels himself fall just that little bit further. It doesn't scare Dean nearly as much as it should.

Ruby still hasn’t come back. It’s freaking Sam out although he acts like it isn’t. Even Dean’s a little worried, although he hates her he hates to see Sam sad even more. Things have been weird lately, what with Ruby disappearing, and Cas has been busy lately – apparently with his accounting job, but Dean doesn’t understand why an accountant would be called to work at ten on a Friday. Dean wonders if he has a penchant for finding people to surround him in life that have to lie to him. It’s frustrating.

But it’s not until that night that everything comes to a head. Dean’s sitting, watching TV, a bowl of pasta Bolognese sitting on the coffee table before him. He’d been at work until eight, and it had exhausted him.

That being said, when he hears a noise one room over, he doesn’t hesitate in standing, knife from under the couch in one hand, poised ready for battle. What he doesn’t expect, is for the person to be already in the room, and before he knows it there are arms around him from behind, one pressing on his windpipe and the other around his waist.

“Where are they?” an unfamiliar voice asks, and it makes him shudder.

“Who?” Dean grits out hoarsely, the arm across his neck making it hard to talk.

“You know who,” the voice retorts. “The demon and the _angel_.” The last word is said dripping with sarcasm and hatred.

“Angel?”

“Not literally. You know who I’m talking about. Castiel. Bratva. About your height, dark hair, apparently growing a conscience because of you.”

“What?” Dean asks, completely lost now.

“He moved in across from you a few weeks ago,” the voice says; frustration evident, and Dean’s heart stops. He feels as if he may throw up, but the man’s still talking, wet condescension in his ear. “And Ruby, Ruby was supposed to check in three days ago, but she didn’t, and that mean’s something went wrong. And here you are, alive, and she’s nowhere to be seen. What’s a man supposed to assume?”

“I don’t…” Thoughts don’t want to make any sense in Dean’s head right now, and the oxygen deprivation doesn’t help.

Before he can try and say something coherent, there’s a bang and at first Dean thinks he’s been shot, but then Castiel’s right there in the room with them, all strong and silent power seething behind his eyes.

“Dean,” he says simply, suddenly a flicker of something else flashing across his face but it’s gone in a second.

The man snarls, and suddenly there’s a gun being drawn from behind Castiel’s back. The face he’s wearing isn’t one Dean’s seen before – intense, complete calm, but it’s as if there’s nobody there behind Cas’ eyes. An arm raises and there’s the sickening noise of a gunshot before the grasp loosens on Dean and there’s a body oozing to the floor. Dean glances down and sees red pooling onto his cream carpet. He absently thinks that that’ll be a bitch to get out before reasoning that he probably has bigger problems to worry about, given that his best-friend slash crush just murdered someone in his living room. Cas still hasn’t moved from where he’s standing, but suddenly he turns, looking around for something, Dean doesn’t know what. He thinks he hears the other man mutter an ‘oops’, but he can’t be sure.

Before he knows what’s happening Cas is crouched down beside him, big concerned eyes watching him intently, one hand on his arm where Dean has apparently sunk to the floor. He realises Cas has been talking to him. “Sorry. What?” Dean asks, shaking his head in a futile effort to clear it.

“I said, are you alright?” Cas repeats, voice calm and serious.

“I… yeah I’m fine. What the hell, Cas?” Dean stands suddenly, recoiling from Castiel’s worried face, which turns stony and impassive once he realises it’s showing emotion. “You’re in the fucking Russian mafia?”

Cas drops his gaze, it almost looks like shame. “Dean, this is not the time.” He puts his gun away. “I didn’t mean for you to find out like this.”

“What, were you gonna take me out, candlelit dinner and then say ‘hey, just as an aside, I’m a fucking mobster’?” Dean’s yelling and he knows he’s being difficult but he doesn’t care.

An odd expression flits across Castiel’s face before it turns dark. “Dean, there are others coming. We are in danger, and we have got to go. Now.”

Dean’s suddenly and violently reminded that Cas is in the Bratva, and can very easily overpower him, and has just killed a man, and like a wave crashing over him he feels very, very small. “I don’t want to leave, Cas,” he says, quiet now.

***

Dean is no longer angry and Castiel doesn’t know what to do with that. His jaw clenches in irritation. “You’re in danger, Dean, we have to leave.”

Castiel didn’t _mean_ to kill the man, especially once he realised it was one of his, but when he saw Dean in a headlock through the window, and came in through the front door to see Dean being throttled, there was some sort of automatic reaction and before he registered what was happening there was a bullet in the man's brain. It’s unfortunate that Uriel told Dean who Castiel was, but it was bound to happen at some point. Now, though, their priority is to get out of here. Maybe Castiel can take Dean back to New York and he can keep hidden while Castiel continues to do his job. Or maybe Castiel should just kill him and finish off the demons here, and Sam, and go back to normal. But he doesn’t want to. So he doesn’t.

“Where are we gonna go? Huh, Cas? Are we on the run from the law now, is that what’s happening?” Dean sounds a little hysterical and Castiel considers the second option. “’Cause let me tell you, Cas, I got out of that life. I left it all behind, and I ain’t coming back.”

For some reason, that hits a little too close to home. “I’ll take you to New York,” he says quietly, watching Dean and trying to look sincere. “And you can live a normal life. I’ll protect you.”

“I have a life. I have a life here, Cas.” Dean turns and that’s it. Game over.

An unexpected flame of anger ignites in Castiel, then. “Why do you have to be so… so obstinate?” he says loudly, it makes Dean flinch and Cas immediately feels bad, but not enough to stop. “You’re worse than Gabriel when he didn’t get what he wanted, and now he’s dead! Now he’s dead, and it’s all my fault, Dean. So you are going to come with me, we’re going to get into my car, and we’re going to drive until we get to New York, because I am not going to let you die too.” Cas’ rage sort of drained out from him as soon as he mentioned his brother and he realises he’s more pleading than demanding.

Dean turns back to him. “Who was Gabriel?” he asks softly.

“My brother.”

“Was it really your fault, or do you just blame yourself?” Dean asks then, voicing aloud the question Castiel asked himself a billion times after his death.

“It was my fault.” Cas’ face and voice are emotionless, after the initial freak out he never has let himself express emotion over Gabriel. Even when he sees honey-coloured hair and an over-confident swagger in a crowded place, he crushes down that idiotic ember of hope left over from when Gabriel would tell him stories about how he was gonna get out. Out of the Bratva. Out of their family. Of course, in those stories he’d take Castiel with him.

Dean nods and says, “I’m still not going with you.” And then he walks away, out of the living room.

Castiel closes his eyes for a second to gather himself before looking down at the body on the floor. Uriel. He doesn’t understand why one of his organisation would want to kill Dean. He frowns, sighs, then hurries after Dean. “Dean, wait!” he calls.

“What?!” Dean calls back, annoyed, already upstairs and in his bedroom.

“I need to know, did that man say anything to you?”

“Like what?” Dean asks, coming to his open bedroom door with hesitance.

“I don’t know,” Cas says. “He’s one of our most loyal men, I need to know why he was trying to kill you. The last I heard from him was that… that he thought I was getting too close to the people in my charge. You,” Castiel pauses. “They feel I’ve begun to express emotions… The doorways to doubt. This can impair my judgement.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “They don’t let you have emotions?”

Cas sighs. “It’s not about _letting_ , Dean. It’s complicated.”

Dean gives him a look but lets it drop. “He’s one of yours? He was talkin’ about Ruby checking in with him, and I think she was meant to kill me. God, Cas, why does everyone want to kill me?” he chuckles, though it’s slightly hysterical.

“He was working with Ruby?” Cas asks, frown deepening. “That’s… That can’t be true.”

Dean shrugs and moves to leave again. “It’s what I heard.”

He’s closing the door in Castiel’s face when Cas finally comes to again. “Wait,” he says, pressing an insistent hand to the door to stop it. “I… I’ll be on the couch.”

Dean stares him down for a moment before nodding. “Fine.” He closes the door and Cas just stands and listens to him getting ready for bed for a few minutes, before shaking his head slightly and going back downstairs. He finds a blanket in the closet and sits on the couch, taking off his white shirt before laying down. He doesn’t expect to sleep much – he has a lot to think about. Corruption in his family, Dean’s stubbornness, Dean… Castiel sighs and arranges a pillow behind his head as he stares out of the window.

***

Dean’s just leaving the bathroom after relieving himself – it’s about three a.m. although he hasn’t got a lot of sleep, unsurprisingly. He just needs time to think about all this. He pads along the corridor beside the curtained bay window which lets in too much moonlight, back to his bedroom when there’s movement over by the stairs.

“Dean?” Cas is there and he’s shirtless which is more than a little distracting. “Dean, are you okay? I heard movement so I came up…”

“What the hell, Cas, I’m fine,” Dean says, glaring at him. “I don’t need you running to me every time you hear a noise. Got it?” Although, he concedes, it is a little nice to feel cared about, not that he’d ever admit that.

Cas huffs in frustration. “Dean, I just don’t want you to get hurt. And from down there,” he points down the stairs. “I can’t tell the difference between your footsteps and those of somebody trying to kill you.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Would it make you feel better if you slept at the end of my bed?”

Cas’ face lights up. Oh shit.

“Wait, hold on, I didn’t mean…” But Cas is already marching into Dean’s room like he owns the place. Dean sighs and follows him in. Castiel is literally lying at the foot of Dean’s bed, just there, on his back, with his arms tucked beneath his head.

Dean has to pause for a moment just to collect himself because freakin’ Castiel is lying, shirtless, on his bed at three in the morning. But then he sighs and walks in further. “I didn’t mean literally at the bottom of my bed,” he says, crossing his arms as he looks down at Cas. He lifts the covers and slides under. “Get in, dumbass,” he says as he rolls away from Cas, although there’s nothing to the words.

He can feel Castiel cautiously move off the bed and then get in beside Dean. It makes something in his chest hurt when Dean thinks to himself that this feels right – to be in bed with Castiel. Because Cas just killed a man, and he’s a fucking mobster in the fucking Bratva, and Dean can’t stop thinking about him; can’t even be mad at him. For all Dean gave up his old life, he’s never quite been able to shake it completely, so it figures that he’d get pulled back under the deep dark lonely sea of it again sooner or later.

Except, maybe this time it doesn’t have to be so lonely. Not that there’s any universe where Castiel wants to be with Dean, but if this is happening, if Dean’s getting back into the life, maybe Cas can still be there with him, alongside him.

It’s with that thought that Dean finally falls asleep.


	4. Run while you can

It’s been a long time since Castiel woke up beside another person. If he fucks someone he makes sure they’re gone before he sleeps, and even then it’s been months, maybe years. So, considering his lifestyle, waking up next to Dean should be jarring – he should be reaching for his gun and there should be adrenaline coursing through his blood vessels. There isn’t, though. Because Dean’s just lying there – face open and peaceful and there’s this little smile on his face like maybe he’s having a good dream, and it’s been so _long_ since Castiel has dreamt and he misses it, and there’s sunlight reaching long fingers across Dean’s face and it might be the most beautiful thing Cas has ever seen.

And then Dean rolls towards Castiel and he can feel Dean’s morning wood pressing insistently against his hip and Cas is hard too and he’s known for his self-restraint but this is pushing his limits. Dean nuzzles into Castiel’s neck and rolls his hips and that’s all Cas can take. He slides out of Dean’s grasp and to his feet with a gasp. Dean just frowns and then replaces Cas with a pillow, burying his face in it. Castiel is achingly hard and he reaches down to adjust it and hisses, realising he’s going to have to go to the bathroom and take care of it. He takes one last long look at the sleeping man and then goes into Dean’s en-suite, locking the door behind him.

***

Dean wakes and he’s alone. He feels a pang of disappointment before he hears a quiet moan coming from the bathroom. His eyes widen; there’s _no way_ that’s Cas. No way. But who else could it be?

In a moment the door opens and a very-slightly flushed looking Castiel emerges, who’s eyes snap to Dean’s once he realises he’s awake.

“Mornin’ sunshine,” Dean says, grinning at Cas and propping his head up on his hand.

“Good morning, Dean,” Cas says, and Dean might _almost_ say that he’s blushing.

“Sleep well?”

Cas nods. “Yes, thank you. I’m ah, I’m going to make breakfast. Do you want anything?”

“If you’re offering,” Dean says, still watching Cas intently.

Cas shrugs. “It’s your food.” Then he turns and leaves, and if Dean watches his boxer-clad ass walk away then sue him, he’s hard and Cas is half-naked.

***

They sit over two plates of bacon and eggs in silence. Castiel redressed in yesterday’s clothes as soon as he got downstairs and Dean wears a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt.

“So,” Dean says finally, putting his fork down on his plate with a clatter.  “What are you gonna do?”

Castiel chews thoughtfully for a moment, as if he hasn’t been thinking over that one question all night, and then swallows. “I’m leaving,” he says, and hopes to fuck that this will work.

Dean looks up at him sharply. “Where are you going?”

Cas shrugs. “I don’t know. And if I did I couldn’t tell you.” He pushes some eggs around on the plate and watches them.

“Just like that?” Dean asks, and he sounds a little hurt.

“You said you wouldn’t come with me,” Castiel reasons. “I’ve had a lot of time to think, Dean. Uriel was one of my closest friends, and he turned out to be corrupt. Gabriel is dead. I have no one left for me in the Bratva.”

“So stay here,” Dean says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and god, his face looks like he actually does want Cas to stay. For them to be neighbours in the suburbs and have barbecues and gossip about their other neighbours.

“I can’t,” he says. “My organisation is very powerful, they’d find me instantly.”

Dean looks down at his plate. “What about me?”

“You told me you didn’t need my help.”

“So, what, you’re just leaving me here?” Dean’s trying to sound angry but it comes across more hurt than anything.

Cas steels himself and looks up at Dean sharply. “Yes,” he says it with conviction.

“I can’t protect myself against the fucking Russian mafia, Cas!” Dean exclaims.

Cas shrugs and stands to take their plates to the sink. “Then it’s not my problem,” he says, though it hurts a little. “If you won’t come with me then there’s nothing I can do.”

Dean’s silent for a long time as Cas stands and stares at the dishes in the sink.

“What about Sam?” the question he’s asking is ‘what will happen to Sam if I come with you?’, Cas can tell.

“Sam will be safe,” he says, and he believes it, too. “Ruby’s people will protect him, and he’s in no real danger from the Bratva. He wasn’t involved in this.”

***

Dean stares at the grain of the wooden table he’s leaning on for a long time. He has no real roots here, the fire department won’t miss him, Cas is his only good friend here, he’ll miss people, sure, like Missouri and Charlie, but if he’s in danger while he’s here they might be too.

Then there’s Sam. Cas says he’ll be okay, and although Dean doesn’t trust Ruby as far as he could throw her, he knows that Cas is right. Even without her, Sam is as good at protecting himself as Dean is, if not better.

So, there’s only… Cas. “Cas?” Dean says after a number of minutes.

“Hm?” Cas looks up at him from where he’s leaning against the sink.

“I… We’re friends, right? I need to know I’m not just following you because…” _of some stupid crush,_ his brain supplies. “Because you’re dangerous or some shit,” he mutters lamely.

Castiel blinks. “We’re friends,” he says, quiet and earnest. “If you come with me, Dean, I will protect you.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Dean says, and then rubs his eyes, disbelieving that he’s even considering this. “When, where, and how?” he asks with a sigh. “Not that I’m agreeing, just… weighing up my options here.”

“Tomorrow, California, and we’d drive. I have money,” Cas supplies.

Dean nods and then looks up at Castiel. “And we’d be safe there?”

Cas holds Dean’s stare for a moment before his eyes drop. “I can’t make any promises. They may find us, I may have to fight. But it will be safer than here, Dean.”

This is the closest to scared Dean’s ever seen Castiel. It’s the closest to pleading, too. “Alright,” he says, taking a deep breath in. “Alright, I’ll come.”

Castiel’s eyes widen and the corner of his mouth twitches up. “Really?”

Dean nods and stands up. “Keep it in your pants,” he grumbles, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I’ll come. Lemme pack a bag, we can leave when I’m done.”

***

Castiel makes Dean come with him to pack his own things, just in case. He doesn’t have much, mostly weapons and clothes. He leaves anything that can be tracked, and plans on buying a new phone on the way. When they get back to Dean’s, Sam’s car is outside.

“Why is your brother here?” Cas asks, squinting at the Buick suspiciously.

“Because I invited him,” Dean says and then gets out of the passenger side of Cas’ Lincoln Continental.

“Why?” Castiel asks warily, following Dean as he heads towards the house.

“Cas,” Dean turns to him, stopping them both. “He’s my brother. I’ll come with you, but this is non-negotiable.”

Cas stares at him for a moment, on the one hand he wants as few people to know they’ve left at all, but on the other he wants Dean to actually come with him. Besides, he seems to trust his brother implicitly, and they both grew up in the life, so maybe he should give the younger Winchester more credit. Still, it gives Castiel an itchy feeling under his skin to go against what he was taught.

Sam’s eyes tear up and they hug three times. Cas watches from the corner. Before they leave, Sam pulls Cas aside and levels him with a menacing look. “So,” the Winchester says. “You’re kidnapping my brother.”

Castiel raises an eyebrow. “He agreed to come willingly.”

Sam snorts. “You’ve still got him wrapped around your finger. He always gets like this – they’ve just never made him move state before.”

“Who’s ‘they’?”

“Come on,” Sam rolls his eyes. “I’m not blind. His… partners. I don’t know the specifics.”

Cas’ eyes widen and he blinks, speechless for a second. “I… it’s not like that. We’re just friends, Sam.”

“Pfft,” Sam laughs. “ _Sure,_ right, of course you are. Hey, I don’t mind – I just…” he softens suddenly and his eyes are pleading and earnest. “Just be careful with him. Okay?”

“I will protect him with my life,” Castiel says and then he walks away from Sam and out the front door.

***

Dean comes outside and sees Cas leaning against the hood of his car, legs crossed at the ankles, looking down the road with a frown.

“Hey,” Dean says, striding over to him. “You ready to go?” he raises his eyebrows and Cas looks at him, saying nothing for a moment and then nodding. He walks around to the other side of the car and for a moment Dean thinks he’s being allowed to drive but then Cas is holding open the passenger side door for Dean, and he chuckles but it gives him an odd feeling inside.

Dean looks at the house he’s called home for the last five years wistfully, and then they’re pulling out and waving at Sam and driving away from Dean’s normal life. Dean sighs and rests his head against the cool glass beside him. He earns a slightly concerned or possibly just calculating glance from Cas but he says nothing.

By noon they’re on the freeway going twenty miles over the speed limit with the windows down. Castiel is driving, one arm hooked on the open window, the other lazily resting on the wheel. There’s no music and Dean can’t even imagine what kind of music Cas would listen to. Dean looks out the window at the road zipping by and reflects on his situation once again, huffing in disbelief and shaking his head slightly.

“What?” Cas asks, glancing over at him.

“Nothin’,” Dean replies. “Just, I can’t believe my fuckin’ life. I’ve known you for, what? A month? And you turn out to be Russian mafia murder man, and now I’m on my way to a new life in California.”

“Right,” Cas nods. “And that’s strange because...”

Dean sighs and looks over at him incredulously. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

Castiel shakes his head. “This is all I’ve ever known,” he says, expression unreadable.

“You grew up in the Bratva?”

“Yes,” Cas nods. “Gabriel and I.”

“Why don’t you have an accent?” Dean asks in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Cas glances over at him. “I do sometimes,” he answers.

Dean snorts. “No you don’t,” he argues.

Castiel’s eyes narrow. “You want to bet?” he asks in an thick Russian accent.

“Um,” Dean says coherently. He swallows with a click. “Yeah, okay, I believe you.”

Cas smirks and looks back at the road. “You just don’t usually get to hear it,” he explains.

“Why not?”

Cas says nothing just continues to smirk out of the window. “So why is this weird?” he switches back to his American accent.

“Well,” Dean shrugs. “I dunno it’s just, most people my age are getting married and having their first kid now, and I’m here driving away from all that, from my cosy suburban house to fucking California with a murderer on the run from the Russian mafia.”

“And you want to have children and a wife?” Cas stares resolutely at the road ahead, and Dean thinks he sees his fists clench on the steering wheel.

“I mean, no,” Dean protests. “Not right now, anyway. I don’t know,” he mumbles.

Cas nods. “So what’s the problem?”

Dean just rolls his eyes and resumes leaning on the window. Cas drops the subject.


	5. Talk about a Jesus complex

Dean still hasn’t talked to him yet when they pull up outside a motel in Utah. Cas cuts the engine and just sits there for a moment, worrying slightly that Dean regrets coming with him and is just about to demand he go back. Then Dean speaks. “Are you mad at me?”

“What? No,” Cas frowns. “I thought _you_ were angry at _me_.”

“Well I’m not _not_ pissed,” Dean grumbles before getting out of the car.

Castiel frowns, ever more perplexed by this man, and then follows Dean, who’s already striding across the parking lot towards the reception. “Dean, wait,” Cas hurries after Dean, sighing in slight annoyance. He catches up with the other man and puts a hand on his shoulder. “What's wrong?” he asks.

“We’re in Utah,” Dean replies and then pulls out of Castiel’s grip.

He books two separate rooms and disappears into his own as soon as he can. Castiel puts his bag onto the bed and sighs. He was becoming Dean’s friend and now the man he’s trying to protect hates him.

Why couldn’t he have just killed Dean his first day in Lawrence? Then none of this shit would have happened. He would never have developed… _feelings_. He flops down onto his bed and groans. Has he made a series of terrible mistakes? No, he never makes mistakes. He can work with this. He hopes.

In the morning they set off without saying a word to one another, though while they drive Dean keeps looking at Castiel when he thinks he isn’t being watched. It makes Cas’ heart do strange things within his chest.

They stop at a gas station twice and arrive in Oakland at ten p.m. just as the sun has set behind the city skyline behind them. Castiel pulls over into the parking lot of a hotel and rests his head back against the headrest. He didn’t sleep much last night because his mind was an electrical buzz of thoughts.

“You okay?” Dean asks with a softness incongruous with last night.

Cas cracks open his eyes and looks at Dean from his periphery. “Yes. Just tired.”

Dean nods and after a moment of hesitation he pats Cas on the leg, then slides hastily out of the car. Castiel watches him take a deep breath once outside and then walk away towards the entrance of the hotel. Cas decides he should catch up with him so he doesn’t have to pay like last night.

By the time he does catch Dean it’s too late and he’s already got them a room. Emphasis on _a_.

“Sorry man, they only had one room with a queen size,” Dean says as he approaches Cas with an apologetic look on his face. “I figure we’ve already shared a bed so it shouldn’t be a problem, right?”

“I…” _yes, Dean, it could very well be a problem because I have no self-control around you_ , instead he says, “I almost forgot about that,” although it’s a lie.

Dean huffs slightly and looks down at the room key. “Okay, sure. Sixty-seven, let’s go.” Dean adjusts the bag on his shoulder and then walks away towards the elevators.

Castiel only watches him go for a second before following.

***

It’s an odd thing to watch Castiel do something so human as to shave. It’s morning and Dean doesn’t think Cas knows he’s awake, so he has left the bathroom door open and Dean is watching him slide a razor across that beautiful face of his.

To Dean’s reluctant disappointment the other man was already up and dressed by the time he woke. Now, he shaves while Dean lies on the bed, propped up by two of the three pillows, and watches. Maybe it’s creepy but Dean’s morning brain can’t find it in itself to care.

Cas rinses the razor and puts it down on the sink before he speaks. “I’ll have an apartment by this evening,” he says apropos to nothing, without looking at Dean.

So he does know Dean is awake. “Uh, okay,” Dean says, shifting so it’s maybe less obvious he was staring. Probably not. “Where is it?”

“Uptown. I’ll pick you up and we can go there later. I have some business to attend to today. Will you be okay on your own?”

“Yeah, ‘course I will,” Dean scowls. “Don’t tell me you expect me to stay here and just wait for you, though.”

Cas sighs tiredly. “As much as I’d feel better if I knew you were safe, I expected you to say that. So do what you want today, go sightseeing, whatever. You have my number if anything happens.”

Dean nods, then realises that Cas isn’t looking at him and says “yeah, I’ll be fine.” There’s a moment where Dean just lays there and Castiel just stands in the bathroom until Dean breaks the silence. “Where will you be?”

“There’s a safehouse near here, I need to make sure nobody’s there. As well as just scoping the place out.” He pushes off the sink and wanders over to his own bag, pulling out his tan trench coat and resting it over his arm. He looks up at Dean. “I’ll see you tonight. Stay safe.” With that, he turns and leaves Dean alone in a too big bed.

He sighs and rubs a hand over his face. Time to go sightseeing, he guesses.

***

Castiel has two keys to the apartment as well as some shiny new ammunition just to be safe when he returns to the hotel that night. Dean is sitting on the bed watching TV and looks up when Castiel comes through the door.

“Do what you needed to do?” he asks, looking back to the TV.

“Yes, most of it, anyway.” Cas walks over to the bed and sees that Dean is watching _Dr Sexy, M.D._ , he smiles to himself. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yep,” Dean gets up off the bed and picks up his already packed duffel bag.

Castiel nods and gestures for Dean to lead the way out of the room, grabbing his own bag and turning off the light as he leaves after Dean.

He gives Dean his key when they park outside the apartment complex, and they bring most of their bags up in relative silence. The apartment is on the top floor – not so good for escaping, but good for defence. Cas likes precautions.

Inside, the door leads into an open-plan living room slash kitchen with tall windows looking out over the city. Castiel dumps his bag on the couch and looks around – he hadn’t actually seen the place in person, only given a friendly Armenian gentleman the rent in cash earlier that day.

Dean’s drawn to the view out the windows, and he looks almost peaceful as he gazes down at the concrete filigree below. For a moment Cas really believes he might not have ruined this man’s life. He walks up behind Dean and their eyes meet through the reflection in the glass. Castiel stops a foot behind Dean and they simply watch each other for a time.

After a minute, Dean looks away and walks over to the closed bedroom doors. “Which one’s mine?” he asks without looking at Cas.

“Your choice,” Castiel replies, standing and watching as Dean nods and retreats into the bedroom on the left.

Once he’s gone and Cas is left on his own he drops his head and examines the carpet below his feet without really looking at it. There’s something bothering him but he can’t pinpoint what it is. Perhaps he’s just thrown because he’s begun to admit to himself that he’s attracted to Dean, which is a rare, if not extinct event in and of itself.

Cas unglues his feet from where they’re planted and takes his bag into his own room, not really seeing more than the single window and vent in the wall. He changes quickly into fresh underwear and slips under the covers, readying himself for another sleepless night. Zachariah was right; emotions fuck everything up.

***

Cas is already gone when Dean gets up the next morning. To be fair, it is almost noon and he has left a note on the kitchen counter.

_I needed to do a few errands. I’ll be back this afternoon. Here’s some money, feel free to go out; just don’t use your credit card. I’ll arrange something more permanent when I get back._

Then, as if it was a rushed afterthought,

_Have a good day,_

_-C_

His handwriting is… more feminine than Dean would have expected. He smiles a little and pockets the note before wandering to the fridge to see if there’s any food in it yet. There isn’t, so Dean resolves to get groceries today.

By the time he’s back, staggering in the door with four bags of food and some toiletries, Cas is back. He’s sitting on the couch with a laptop that looks new on his lap. When he sees Dean struggling he closes it and walks over to take two of the bags from him.

“Thanks,” Dean says and follows Cas over to the kitchen. “I used some of the money you left, I hope that’s okay.”

“Of course it is, that’s why I left it,” Cas says, depositing perishables in the fridge.

“Right, yeah,” Dean nods, still holding a loaf of bread in his left hand. “It just… it feels weird.”

Cas stops and turns to look at Dean. “Why?” he asks.

Dean shrugs and continues putting things away. “I dunno, it just feels like I’m your fuckin’ trophy wife or something – staying in the apartment you pay for and using your money to buy groceries.”

“So you have a problem with me paying for things?” Cas asks, still just standing beside the open fridge and frowning.

“No, it’s not,” Dean cuts himself off in frustration. “I just… I feel like I’m being _kept_ , or some shit.”

Castiel nods and turns back to the groceries. “You want independence,” he says.

“Yeah, I… I guess.”

“You can get a job, you know.”

“Yeah?”

“Of course,” Cas says. “You sound surprised.”

Dean shrugs. “I don’t know what I’m doin’ here, man.”

“I don’t want you to be unhappy,” Castiel says somewhat out of the blue.

Dean pauses what he’s doing. “I’m not… I wouldn’t say I’m unhappy.”

Cas sighs. “I’m afraid that you’re only here because… because you’re afraid of me.”

“Why would I be afraid of you?” Dean asks, then amends, “okay, that was a dumb question. But I’m not. Why would you think that?”

“That’s what you said, before we came here,” he explains. “You said you needed to make sure we were friends because you thought you were afraid of me.”

“Right,” Dean says, remembering that conversation. “I didn’t know what I was saying back then; don’t worry about it, man.”

Cas says nothing for a while and then nods. “You can tell me if you are unhappy, Dean.”

“Okay,” Dean shrugs. “I will.”

***

“Hey, Cas, you wanna watch _Bladerunner_ with me?” Dean asks from where he’s sprawled across the couch.

Castiel was on his way to bed. He hesitates, hand resting on the back of the couch behind Dean before giving in. “Alright,” he says, walking around to sit beside Dean, who draws his legs up to make room for him. “Is it good?”

“You’ve never seen it?”

Cas shakes his head.

Dean chuckles. “Prepare yourself for two of the best hours of your _life_ ,” he says.

Castiel nods and looks resolutely at the screen.

He thinks Dean may have been exaggerating. He did enjoy the film, and having Dean mouth along with the characters beside him did add something, but Cas doesn’t know if he would call that the best two hours of his life. He hopes those are yet to come because nothing really comes to mind. Perhaps his tenth birthday, when Gabriel snuck two cupcakes into their bedroom once the lights had been turned out and the celebrated like Gabe assured him they did in the movies.

But when the credits roll and Dean slumps down from where he’s sitting until he lies across Castiel’s lap, it might be up there with the late-night birthday cake. He’s never really been intimate with anybody, not in this way. No one has allowed him to, trusted him enough to just sit with them. And Dean’s eyes are closed and his eyes are moving a little behind their lids and he looks unrealistically peaceful. Without really realising it’s done so, Cas’ hand moves to run fingers through Dean’s short hair and he notes that it’s softer than it looks. Dean smiles a little when he does so, and Cas wonders if he’s dreaming about this happening. Probably not, he decides.

They are cut short when there’s a knock at the door. Castiel narrows his eyes at it, willing the person away, before realising that no one is supposed to know where they live, and they may be in a great deal of danger. Though, assassins don't usually knock. He manoeuvres Dean’s head off of his lap and onto the couch as he stands, reaching back instinctively for the gun in his waistband. He edges over to the door and looks out of the peephole to find an empty corridor. He _tsks_ almost inaudibly and slowly removes the chain and unlocks the door. He opens it and looks first one way down the corridor and then the other.

He almost has a heart attack.

Instead, his gun finds the man’s head and he’s facing the wall, one arm held behind him by Castiel. There’s an annoyed grunt.

“Who are you and why do you look like my brother?” Castiel growls.

The man chuckles. “It’s nice to see you haven’t changed, Cassie.”

Cas pushes the arm further up his back, eliciting a wince of pain from the man. “How dare you wear the face of a dead man,” Castiel says.

“You really bought that, huh?” The man laughs and then groans in pain when Cas twists his arm further. “I heard that you left, I didn’t think it could be true,” he pants out. “But I had to find out for myself. I can’t believe you did it, baby bro.”

Castiel’s mind is racing. He clears his throat. “Name the first movie you showed me.”

“Well, technically that would be Casa Erotica.”

Castiel pushes away from the man, eyes wide and disbelieving, making him stumble against the wall. His breathing is laboured and his heart is pounding. “Gabriel?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woopsie, I didn’t update for ages! My bad. Also I’ve decided fuck a schedule because I won’t follow it anyway. Anyway, here’s a chapter :)  
> -B


	6. Green Eyed (Monster)

“In the flesh,” Gabriel says, though it’s more of a wheeze since Castiel let him go.

“How… what…” Cas trails off. “Why would you do that?” he yells, an uncharacteristic wave of anger washing over him. He advances on his brother and shoves him in the chest. “Why?!” he demands.

“Hey, hey,” Gabriel raises his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry, okay? I know it was shitty, just… I’m here now, okay?”

“Six months, Gabriel! You were dead for six months!” Castiel crosses his arms and glares menacingly.

“I know, and I would’ve told you eventually,” he protests, looking away guiltily.

“When!? When would you have told me?”

Gabe shrugs, “when you inevitably got out?”

Cas huffs. “And if I didn’t? If I’d have stayed?”

“I know you, Cassie; you were never going to stay.” Gabriel smiles smugly. “You wouldn’t have kept working with those assholes.”

“You mean our family?” Castiel raises his eyebrows.

“Our family are a bunch of dicks and you know it,” Gabe reasons.

Cas rolls his eyes. “You could have told me.”

Gabe’s smile turns sad. “I couldn’t until you were out, you know I couldn’t” he says. “I _am_ sorry.”

Castiel glares at him for a few more moments and then asks, “You’re really here? Alive?”

“The one and only,” Gabe replies quietly, almost nervous.

Cas sighs. “Then come here, you assbutt.” He steps forward and wraps his arms around the brother he thought he’d lost. Gabriel doesn’t hesitate in crushing his little brother in a painful hug.

“I missed you so much,” Castiel admits into Gabriel’s shoulder.

“You too, munchkin.”

Cas steps away and hits Gabe’s arm. “I changed my mind I didn’t miss you at all,” he says, stone-faced.

Gabriel scoffs and then looks up at Castiel with puppy-dog eyes. “How can you say that?” he asks. “I _died_.”

Cas snorts. “No, Gabe, you faked your death. There’s a difference,” he says. “Now come inside before someone recognises you and murders you for real.”

***

Dean wakes to someone loudly saying, “And who’s _this_?” He blinks himself awake to see whiskey-coloured eyes three inches from his face being forcibly removed by Castiel’s strong grip.

“Gabe, _no_ ,” he warns, raising a stern eyebrow at the other man.

Dean sits up and frowns. “Wait, Gabe? I thought…”

Cas looks down at him upon realising Dean’s awake. “Yes, well, so did I.” His face is impassive, but Dean thinks there’s a smile pulling at his lips and some cloud has lifted from his eyes that seemed to be permanently there before now.

Dean’s eyebrows rise. “This is Gabriel? Your brother?”

Castiel nods and Gabe says, “Ooh, you’ve told him about me?!” in an overly excited voice. He grins and extends a hand to Dean, who takes it. “Gabriel – _very_ pleased to make your acquaintance. And you are?”

Dean glances at Cas before he answers, who nods. “Dean Winchester,” he says. “I’m a friend of Cas’.”

Gabe tilts his head in a Castiel-like fashion and his gaze turns scrutinising. “Now, I _know_ that’s not true because Castiel doesn’t have friends, and if he did, he certainly wouldn’t let them give him a _nickname_.” Gabriel rubs his chin contemplatively. “So, that leaves captive, or…”

“That’s enough, Gabe,” Cas cuts him off in a warning tone. “Dean is my friend and he is under my protection.”

Gabe smirks evilly at Castiel and a laugh bubbles up from his throat. “Okay,” he says, eyes alight with mirth, though Dean doesn’t understand why. “Whatever you say, Casanova. Now,” he claps his hands together. “We gonna catch up, or what?”

Castiel glances at Dean who doesn’t need more of a hint and stands, stretching. “I’ll, ah, I’ll leave you guys to it. Good to meet you, Gabe. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Cas smiles at him gratefully. “Goodnight, Dean,” he says and there’s a softness in his eyes that Dean hasn’t quite seen before. He turns before he can read too much into it and retreats to his bedroom.

Just before he gets there, he hears Gabe speak. “Yeah, _sleep well_ Dean-o,” he says, and Dean turns in time to see Cas glare at his brother as if he wants to murder him. Dean frowns and shakes his head, trying to dispel the nagging thought that maybe, just maybe, this is Castiel being jealous.

He can hear the murmur of them talk while he sits on his bed reading but not really reading a book. There are too many thoughts that he doesn’t want to entertain floating around his head and it’s taking all of his brain-power not to think of them.

***

Castiel isn’t as surprised as he should be that his brother is alive. Gabriel always was the master of illusions, of sleight of hand, _The Trickster_. He won’t reveal how he did it but it doesn’t really matter to Castiel because he’s alive, and he’s tangible, and he’s here.

“I never trusted that bastard,” Gabe says after Cas has told him about Uriel.

Castiel shrugs. “I did. But that was the final straw, I suppose.”

“And so, you took Dean to Oakland and bought him an apartment?” Gabriel asks innocently, staring down at his cup of coffee.

“Yes, essentially.”

“And he… calls you _Cas_ , and you call him your friend…”

Castiel sighs. “What are you getting at, Gabriel?”

Gabe shrugs. “Nothing, nothing. Just… the last friend you had ended up in a dumpster in Sacramento,” he says. “And you were the one who put him there.”

“And?” Cas asks. “This is completely  different.”

“Yeah, obviously,” Gabe rolls his eyes. “My question is why.”

Castiel’s eyes flick up to Gabriel and then away. “I think you’ve already figured out why,” he says gravely.

Gabe’s face lights up in a grin. “Wait, really? I was right? You’re boning?”

“No!” Castiel says too loudly. “No, I just…” he trails off.

“You just want to,” Gabe supplies and Cas shrugs. Gabriel bursts into a fit of raucous laughter.

“What?” Cas asks with irritation.

Gabe shakes his head. “Ah, baby bro, you haven’t changed,” he says, wiping away tears of laughter.

Cas just glares at him.

***

A little past midnight there’s a soft knock at Dean’s bedroom door.

“Come in!” Dean calls, putting his book down.

Castiel pokes his head around the door. “Gabe’s gone now, just so you know.”

Dean nods. “Okay, thanks for telling me,” he says. “Did you guys get a chance to catch up?”

Cas smiles a little. “Yes, we did. He had some business to attend to, but we’re getting lunch tomorrow.”

Dean smiles back at him with genuine care. It’s strangely uplifting to see Cas happy. “Good, good.” Castiel nods and is about to leave when Dean stops him. “Hey, Cas?” he says, and Cas turns back to him.

“Yes, Dean?” he asks, open and earnest.

“See earlier, when Gabe introduced himself to me?”

“Yes,” Cas frowns.

“Were you…” _now or never,_ Dean thinks. “Were you jealous?”

“Was I…” Cas’ eyes widen and if there was more than a bedside light on Dean might see his cheeks flush. “Why would I be jealous?”

Right. Dean’s heart sinks a little. He exhales sharply and picks up his book, pretending to read a random page. “No reason. Forget I said anything.”

Dean assumes it’s the end of the conversation, but Cas is still standing there. “Gabriel doesn’t even like men, he was just trying to annoy me.”

Dean frowns and looks back up at Cas. “…Annoy you?” he asks, a tiny blossom of hope blooming deep within his chest which he tries to crush instantly but fails.

“I…” Castiel begins. “I meant…” he flounders, and looks around Dean’s room as if for a way out. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Sleep well, Dean.” He turns to leave and walks away with such velocity that he smacks straight into the doorframe. Dean’s on his feet and crouched down by him before his mind comprehends what has happened.

“Cas? You okay?” he asks the blinking and dazed man below him.  

“What happened?” Cas frowns and tries to sit up but only gets halfway before hissing in pain and letting his head fall back down.

Dean catches it before it whacks against the floor and lays it down more gently. “You hit your head on the door,” Dean answers. “You might have a concussion there, we should go to the hospital.”

“No,” Cas frowns, his eyebrows drawing together. “No hospital, I’m fine,” there’s a slight Russian accent creeping into his words and if Dean wasn’t so worried he’d laugh at the whole situation.

“Okay,” Dean says hesitantly. “But we’re getting you some ice and painkillers.”

Castiel allows himself to be helped to his own bed, and a bag of frozen peas to be held against his forehead. “Hold that there, I’ll be right back,” Dean says, giving the peas to Cas.

He retrieves his phone from his nightstand and opens the flashlight app. “Look here,” he tells Cas and points to the bright light.

“What are you doing?” Cas mumbles while he squints at the phone.

“Uhhh,” Dean stares into Castiel’s eyes. “Okay, your pupils constricted, you’re not concussed. You’re gonna have a nasty bruise, though.”

“How do you know that?” Cas asks, closing his eyes and leaning his head back down on the pillow.  

Dean shrugs. “Sam used to get injured a lot, kinda comes with the territory of being a gangly teen all of a sudden, and dad wouldn’t let us go to the hospital. I learned how to take care of him.”

“You’re a good brother,” Cas says, although it’s obvious he’s falling asleep.

“Yeah yeah,” Dean says, patting Castiel’s arm. “You just get some sleep. Big, bad Castiel was bested by a door,” he chuckles. “You need to rest.”

“Mm hmm,” Castiel hums. “You should stay in here,” he mumbles.

“In your bed?” Dean asks, smiling amusedly.

“Mmm,” Cas nods, eyes opening so he can smile at Dean.

Dean snorts. “How strong were those painkillers you took?”

Cas shrugs but pulls Dean down beside him into his bed.

“Okay, alright,” Dean sighs and gives up any resistance. “But you’re gonna regret this when you’re sober again.”

“Nikogda,” Cas mumbles and then promptly falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:  
> Nikogda: never.


	7. Not a cover

When Dean wakes, for all the times they’ve shared a bed, it’s the first time he’s seen Cas sleeping. There’s a purple bruise blooming at the top of his forehead and he’s frowning a little into the pillow but he’s beautiful like this. So much smouldering power and control relinquished before Dean. Sure, there was a little help from some probably illegal painkillers and a head injury, but still.

Dean tries to convince himself not to stare for too long, but in the end he relaxes back onto the mattress and lies there while Cas’ chest rises and falls from where it’s trapped within the protective shell of his arms. After a time, Dean rolls over to check the time on his cell and when he looks back Castiel is awake, watching him.

“How’d you sleep?” Dean asks, hand gripping his phone frozen mid-air.

Castiel glances at it and then back at Dean. “I slept fine, thank you.” He rubs a hand over his eyes and then rolls over and stands up.

Dean watches him cross over to the door and mumbles, “I was right, then,” with a chuckle.

“What?” Cas turns to face him again by the door.

“I was just sayin’ that I was right,” Dean explains, smiling widely at Cas. “Last night I told you you’d regret asking me to sleep with- ah, sleep in your bed,” he corrects, mid-sentence, so his statement sounds less suggestive.

Castiel stares at him for a moment and then turns, shaking his head slightly. “I don’t regret that,” he says and then walks away.

***

That evening Castiel decides to get Dean a bank card under the name of Felix Leiter which isn’t completely legitimate but it’s pretty much fool-proof and reliable. He’s making his way back to the apartment and has just turned down a dark, wet alleyway when he sees commotion to his left. There are two men crowding in on another man. Castiel turns up his coat collar and looks down at his feet splashing along the soused concrete, speeding up his walk just a little. He can’t be bothered with getting involved in petty crime tonight. Plus there’s always the risk he’d be described to the police.

Then he hears it. “Hey! The fuck do you think you are!?” and that’s Dean’s voice, Castiel would know it anywhere, so his feet are already taking him towards the men without his permission.

He grabs the two men by their collars and wrenches them away from Dean, who leans heavily backwards on the brick wall behind him. The men are thrown to the floor and one is knocked out by Castiel’s hit immediately while Cas procures a knife from his sleeve and presses it to the throat of the second.

“Raphael,” Castiel says darkly. “What are you doing here?”

“You ran away, little brother,” Raphael answers with murderous eyes. “So we tailed Winchester here to find you.”

“And then what? Kill me?”

The man on the ground throws his head back and laughs before spitting a globule of blood onto the ground. “No, Castiel, we were to bring you in – and you’d be reset.”

Castiel frowns. “Reset how?”

“You never did figure it out,” he grins wickedly. “And we didn’t tell you because your loyalty was deemed too _fragile_. You see, the boys in the lab know a hell of a lot about brains; how they’re wired, how to _manipulate_ that wiring… You’ve ran away before, little boy, we will always find you.” Raphael’s eyes are dark and rabid, as if behind them is only a void. Soulless. Castiel plunges the knife into his jugular and watches as those deranged irises fade into lifelessness and thick blood spurts onto the cobbles below, running down Raphael’s clothes, red blossom blooming on his starch-white shirt.

The other man is still alive – Gadreel – and Castiel slits his throat too. The body spasms, and then is still. He wipes his knife on a rag in his pocket and turns to Dean; who looks a little pale.

“We should go,” Cas says, looking around furtively. He stands and extends a hand which Dean takes and lets himself be pulled to his feet. “Are you alright?” he asks, looking Dean up and down to check him for injury.

“I’m fine,” Dean mumbles, shrugging Cas’ hand from where it lies on his bicep. “Let’s go.” He turns and begins to walk in the direction of their apartment.

“Wait,” Castiel says. “We can’t go back there yet; they could have tracked you there.”

Dean stops walking. “So where do we go?” he asks with a deceptively calm voice.

“We can stay at Gabriel’s.” Castiel gets his cell phone out of his pocket and sends a text to his brother.

They get a cab and are driven fifteen minutes across town until they arrive at a street full of modest but cosy-looking houses. Cas frowns, this can’t be the right address. He calls Gabriel, and sure enough when he says that they’re outside, a front door opens revealing a dressing-gown clad Gabe on his cell-phone.

He waves and hurries over to the cab, yanking open Castiel’s door. Cas pays the driver and gets out, Dean following. The car drives away.

“You live here?” Castiel asks incredulously.

“Yes, I live here,” Gabriel replies defensively. “And as far as they are aware,” he gestures at the house he came out of. “You are my estranged, tax accountant brother, and you’re his boyfriend.”

Castiel blinks. “Who’s ‘they’…” at this point a woman with dark wavy hair, wearing pyjamas, hurries up to them with a smile.

“You must be Castiel,” she says, directing her smile at Cas.

“I… yes. And you are?”

Gabe _tsks_. “This is Kali,” he grins. “My wife.” He wraps an arm around her and glares at Castiel.

Cas blinks, but – used to his brother’s covers – goes along with it. “Of course, Kali, so good to meet you,” he smiles at the woman.

“We’ve got the room set up for you two,” she says. “Just try to keep it down so you don’t wake Jesse.”

Cas smiles and nods until Kali turns and walks back through the open front door when he glares at Gabriel. “What is going on?” he demands.

Gabe looks sheepish. “I was going to tell you,” he averts his gaze guiltily. “That’s… my wife. And Jesse is our son.”

Castiel stares at him for a few beats, then the realisation dawns on him. “This… isn’t a cover?” he asks in bewilderment.

Gabriel shakes his head slowly. “Not this time, baby bro.” He says it as if he doesn’t quite believe it himself.

“You have a child,” Cas states, still astonished. “How old is he?”

“Six. Kali was a hook-up years ago, and when I came back here I find out she’s got my kid, one thing leads to another and…” he gestures at the house and then sighs laboriously. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I just… I don’t want you bringing your shit here. It puts them in danger.”

“I understand.”

“No,” Gabe says sharply. “You don’t. You can’t. It’s different, Cassie, when you’ve got a family. When I say that you don’t bring business here, I mean it.”

Castiel just nods. He doesn’t understand, but he thinks he might get it just a little – because whenever he sees, or even thinks about, Dean in danger; it ignites some long-forgotten, instinctual flame of protection that Cas has never felt before.

“Good,” Gabriel says. “Well then, come on in, mi casa es su casa.”

***

The room is small but cosy and it feels strangely welcoming after living in their apartment for days.

There’s a double bed in the corner of the room and a desk by the door where Dean folds his jacket and hangs it on the back of the chair. There’s a window looking out onto the street above the bed with curtains that have stars on them.

Cas shuts the door behind them. They didn’t talk on the cab journey, and Dean’s still having a hard time looking at the same face that killed two men earlier that night. Dean doesn’t like it when he gets a reminder of how dangerous Cas is – even if it is while protecting him.

“Where were you tonight?” Castiel asks casually as he takes off his trench coat.

“At a bar,” _trying to pick someone up after you gave me hope and then fucking left without mentioning it_. Dean only says the first part.

Castiel nods, and asks, “Are you angry with me?”

“Should I be?”

Cas shrugs. “I don’t know why you would be.” He then adds, quieter, “But I don’t always understand you, Dean Winchester.”

Dean’s fingers trail along the windowsill as he looks down at the street below. A dog barks into the relative silence some way away and he can see a few stars through the orange haze of streetlights. “We’ve been sharing beds a lot lately, huh?”

Castiel looks up at him briefly. “I’m sure Gabriel has a couch I could sleep on if you’d like.”

Dean shrugs. “It wasn’t a complaint. I don’t mind.”

Cas is down to suit pants and an undershirt and he removes his socks before getting into the bed, a little awkwardly but Dean manages to find it endearing.

He sighs into the still air and then draws the curtains closed and takes off his shoes and his jeans. Cas shuffles over on the bed and Dean slides in next to him, facing away from the other man.

After a few minutes Castiel observes, “You’re tense.”

“You killed two men in front of me,” Dean counters.

“That bothers you?” Cas asks, apparently genuinely curious.

“A bit,” Dean admits, rolling onto his back to find he’s being watched.

Castiel ponders this for a moment. “I’d never hurt you,” he says.

“I know you wouldn’t.” Dean clears his throat. “That isn’t the problem.”

Cas squints at him. “Then what is?”

Dean tries for a moment to find a way to explain a conscience to a killer before giving up. “If you don’t get it, you never will.”

Castiel looks away. “Oh,” he says.

“What did that guy mean, you’ve run away before?”

Cas looks back at Dean. “I don’t know. It scares me,” he admits. “I’ll ask Gabriel about it in the morning, maybe he’ll know.”

“So you don’t remember?” Dean asks.

Cas shakes his head and it’s the most uncertain, young, that Dean’s ever seen him. So he shuffles over and wraps an arm around him. Castiel inhales sharply and tenses, before relaxing into the embrace. They say nothing, nothing needs to be said. They fall asleep like that shortly after.

***

Although Gabe isn’t in the business anymore, he apparently knows some people who are, so he sends them to check out the apartment over breakfast. They report that it’s safe. Castiel doesn’t trust them, but he trusts his brother.

It’s a Saturday, so Jesse isn’t up by ten, and much to Kali’s protest Castiel and Dean leave before then. Not before recounting how they ‘got mugged’ last night several times and in detail to her worried expression. After a dozen renditions of, “are you sure you don’t want to go to the police?”, and Castiel almost laughing at that, they are back in another cab and on their way back to the apartment. Neither of them discusses how they slept in each other’s arms last night.

Castiel asked Gabe about what Raphael said this morning, but he didn’t know any more than Cas, except that they were rumoured to have been dabbling in experimental neuroscience involving living, unwilling participants – but he never heard any more about it.

When they get back to the apartment, Castiel can’t help but think that Dean looks a little sad as he toes off his shoes. “What’s wrong?” he asks, waiting back by the door.

“Nothin’,” Dean shrugs. “Just… Gabe’s place seemed more like a home, k’know? I miss that about Kansas.”

“You’re welcome to redecorate,” Cas says, walking towards his own room.

“It’s your apartment too, you know,” Dean’s voice stops him.

“And?”

“You should help furnish it.”

“Why?”

Dean huffs in frustration. “So you feel more at home here.”

“I never feel at home.” Castiel walks into his room and closes the door.

***

Dean’s been out for half an hour – just down to the newsagents to find what he was looking for – when he comes back. Cas is still shut in his room, by the look of things, when Dean drops his keys down on the kitchen island.

He fishes the catalogue out of the paper bag and walks over to knock on Castiel’s door.

“Come in,” he calls.

Dean opens the door and pokes his head in. Castiel is frowning at his laptop, sitting at the small desk in the corner, the harsh light of his screen illuminating his face in the darkness. He looks more tired than usual.

“Hey,” Dean says, coming in further. He raises the catalogue to show Cas, who tracks the movement, leaning back in his chair. “I thought we could pick some stuff out together, for the apartment.”

Castiel sighs and turns back to the screen. “I told you, Dean, I don’t-“

Dean cuts him off. “I know what you said, but how do you know if you don’t try?” he insists.

“I just know,” Cas says, irritation plain in his voice.

Dean sighs in annoyance. “C’mon, Cas, just take a look, will you?” he says, striding over to where Castiel is sitting and placing the catalogue beside him. He crosses his arms and looks down at him.

Castiel seems to tense up. “I said no, Dean.”

“Why not?”

“I’m tired.”

Dean huffs. “Pfft, _yeah_ , okay,” he says sarcastically.

Suddenly Cas is standing inches from Dean’s face, eyes alight with anger. “I’ve killed two men this week. My brothers. I’m hunted, I rebelled, and I did it – all of it – for you,” he jabs a finger into Dean’s chest. “You should give me some _fucking_ credit.”

Castiel doesn’t swear often – at all, really. Maybe that’s why he does it, although Dean doesn’t think so. Maybe it’s sympathy. He doesn’t really have much time to reflect, only to briefly register the unbridled surprise on Cas’ face as Dean surges forward and kisses him purposefully on the lips.


End file.
